


i think i get to keep coming back

by notquiteaghost



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, kinda. one part comfort to eight parts hurt, lots of catharsis tho, post-Zygerria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 10:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10358133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: Anakin shoots him a look, then, a wordless question - ‘Are we talking about it?’Obi-Wan doesn’t know if he wants to talk about it. If that’s why he’s here, curled up on the bed of the one person who could possibly have any meaningful advice for his situation. If talking about it will do any good at all.He knows he should, though.And, well. Kabu keeps threatening to tell the Council he’s mentally unfit for duty and force him to talk to the Healers, and if he has to have this conversation, he knows who he’d rather have it with.Obi-Wan and Anakin have A Conversation About Trauma, in the immediate aftermath of Zygerria.





	

**Author's Note:**

> guess who just watched the zygerria arc!!! 
> 
> **warnings: abuse, slavery, off-screen suicide of a minor character, brief allusions to the jedi healers being medically abusive but not to any named characters*, ptsd as a running theme**
> 
> title is from [here](http://gatheringbones.tumblr.com/post/152040037925). this fic features kabu, my 212th medic OC; crash course in them [here](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com/kabu). 
> 
> *this fic is not the fic i need to write about how ill-equipped the jedi are to deal with nine-year-old trauma-with-legs-and-teeth anakin skywalker, but it is… in that vein.

The facility is large, stiflingly hot, and covered in varying sorts of dirt and grime. Screams and groans echo through near-constantly. The work is exhausting, repetitive, mindless.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force._

The slavers are needlessly cruel. The beatings are random and frequent and unprovoked. The pain is unavoidable.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force._

The shock collars are cheaply made and easily breakable. The guards are not combat-trained. The pain is avoidable. Throw the guards against the far wall, again and again until they stop getting back up, while Rex herds the civilians. Signal the nearest cruiser. Everyone off this hellish place alive. 

_Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force._

_Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force._

Anakin needs time to uncover the Queen’s plan.

_Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force._

Anakin needs time. They’re buying him time. They need to find the other civilians, find Ahsoka, convince the Queen she’s won. Let the Separatists show their hand.

Twenty dead is better than fifty thousand dead. _There is no death, there is only the Force._ Twenty three dead is better than fifty thousand dead. _Death, yet the Force._ Thirty two dead is better than fifty thousand dead.

_Death, yet the Force. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force. Death, yet the Force. Death, yet the Force._

They’re buying Anakin time. The pain is unavoidable. Collateral damage is an unavoidable part of war. They are at war. The pain is unavoidable.

There is no death, there is only the Force.

 

* * *

 

Travelling from the Kadavo system to Coruscant takes just over a week. Obi-Wan maintains consciousness just long enough to obtain this information, then passes out and sleeps for the next three days.

By the fourth day, the pain in his ribs has abated enough that he can manage to stand without then immediately collapsing, though this doesn’t stop Kabu rushing to his side and wrapping an arm around his waist with a cluck of their tongue.

“Did I say anything about getting up?”

“I’m fine, Kabu–”

“Mhmm. Remind me, which one of us is the trained medical professional?”

Obi-Wan sighs, but concedes the point and changes tactics. “If I spend another day in here I’m going to spontaneously combust in the galaxy’s first case of death by restlessness.”

“You’re not sparring with anyone,” Kabu says, immediately, like they’ve been expecting to have this conversation for a while now. Knowing Kabu (and knowing how well Kabu knows him), they had probably planned out their arguments within moments of learning of Obi-Wan’s injuries. “Or picking up a lightsaber, at all, or doing any kind of physical training. Or walking at a pace that could overtake Master Sinube.”

“Rex is training,” Obi-Wan grumbles to himself as he sits back down on the med cot and tries to recall where he put his shoes.

“ _Rex_ didn’t challenge a skilled fighter to an unarmed duel and then allow said fighter to beat the ever-loving daylights out of him, on _purpose_ ,” Kabu snaps.

“Yes, you’ve already lectured me on my choice of diversion tactics. Twice.”

“Yet still I feel like you could do with another one. Or another ten. Maybe I should record some, prescribe you daily listenings. Your boots are under the other cot.”

Once Obi-Wan has finished lacing up his boots, he stands again. His legs are steady underneath him, which is always nice. Kabu still wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Really, Kabu, I can make it to Anakin’s quarters unaided.”

“Just because you _can_ doesn’t mean you _should_.”

“Do you not have anything better to do?”

Kabu grins sharply as they make their way out of the med bay, confirming Obi-Wan’s suspicions that accompanying him is actually an excuse to avoid paperwork. “Only updating yours and Rex’s records, making my report on the wisdom of your continued active service, checking up on the civvies. It can wait.”

They don’t pass anyone else on their way to Anakin’s quarters - it’s the middle of the day (for the given definition of ‘day’ in hyperspace), and most everyone is busy elsewhere. Rex, for example, is with Wolffe, devising hand-to-hand training for dealing with enemy combatants armed with whips.

Say what you will about the clones, but their coping methods are the most productive of anyone Obi-Wan has ever met.

Kabu doesn’t bother with the chime on Anakin’s door, just punches in their (emergencies-only) override. The door opens to reveal Anakin on the floor of his quarters, a cleaning droid in pieces around him and a long line of grease smeared down the side of his face. He lights up at the sight of them.

“Obi-Wan! Free of Kabu’s clutches at last?”

Rolling their eyes, Kabu eases Obi-Wan down onto Anakin’s bed. “No sparring, no training, no strenuous activity of any kind, and if you can get him to eat something that’d be a bonus. The bacta patches on his back will need changing before he sleeps.”

“I’m right here,” Obi-Wan complains.

“Oh, because I can definitely trust you to tell him this yourself.”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to stick out his tongue only because Anakin would tease him for it mercilessly.

“Nothing strenuous, make sure he eats, don’t forget to change the bacta,” Anakin repeats, and Kabu nods.

“I still want to look at your arm, you know.”

Anakin makes his usual ‘I hate medics’ face. “It’s _fine_. And you’re not even my medic, what’s it to you anyway?”

Kabu rolls their eyes. “Right, well when Kix checks you over next, sees the absolute mess your arm undoubtedly is, and tears me a new one for not doing anything about it, I’ll be sure to tell him it’s all your fault.”

“You do that.”

Kabu huffs, checks over Obi-Wan’s bandages one last time, and then leaves them alone.

“Was there any particular reason for this visit,” Anakin asks as he turns his attention back to the cleaning droid innards, “or did you just miss me?”

“Oh, obviously I missed you terribly. We last saw each other yesterday evening, I could hardly think for the strength of my lovesick pining.”

The corner of Anakin’s mouth curls up, and the sight of it loosens something in Obi-Wan’s chest. He doesn’t have a reason to be here, but he knows Anakin knows that. He doesn’t need one.

“How is Ahsoka?”

“Well, you know. Could be doing better, but she’s handling it pretty well. Been clinging to me something awful, actually, you’re interrupted the first few minutes of time to myself I’ve had since we left Kadavo.”

“I wonder where she gets it from,” Obi-wan muses, thinking fondly of the limpet impression Anakin was so prone to doing after missions they went on during his time as a Padawan.

“I sent her to bother Rex instead.”

“A wise decision. He was indescribably worried about her, not that I was the one who told you that.”

Anakin shoots him a look, then, a wordless question - ‘Are we talking about it?’

Obi-Wan doesn’t know if he wants to talk about it. If that’s why he’s here, curled up on the bed of the one person who could possibly have any meaningful advice for his situation. If talking about it will do any good at all.

He knows he should, though.

And, well. Kabu keeps threatening to tell the Council he’s mentally unfit for duty and force him to talk to the Healers, and if he has to have this conversation, he knows who he’d rather have it with.

He nods, ever so slightly, and Anakin lets out a breath and says, gaze once again focused on whatever droid part he’s currently tinkering with, “What about you? How have you been?”

There are so, so many things he could say to that. _Internalising and repressing the shit out of everything, as is the Jedi way_ or _I can’t sleep without having nightmares, and the nightmares only drag me awake again_ , or _I think the next time someone calls me Master I’m either going to punch them or vomit._

He doesn’t need to say any of that, though. He’s not having this conversation with Anakin of all people out of any desire to actually put into words his feelings.

“I’ve definitely been better.”

Anakin huffs a bitter, knowing laugh. “Yeah. Y’know, this particular experience wasn’t something I was eager to have in common with you.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan says with a grim smile, “what’s war about if not collecting as many varied forms of trauma as this galaxy can provide?”

Anakin grins, shaking his head, and then turns serious. “Ahsoka hasn’t called me ‘Master’ once.”

It’s the conversational equivalent of dropping a grenade. Obi-Wan swallows.

“You remember what I told you?”

“That power is something we give to words, and the meaning of anything can be changed with experience and time, but her personal feelings take precedence and she’s under no obligation to call me anything,” it speaks to how often they had this particular conversation when Anakin was younger that he’s quoting Obi-Wan nearly word-for-word, “yeah, I remember. I told her.”

Obi-Wan lets his head drop back to rest against the wall. Looking at Anakin while discussing these sorts of things takes energy he doesn’t currently have to spare. “Did it help?”

“I think so. She just needs time. She wasn’t– It’s not like she’s got nine years of it to deal with, she’ll bounce back.”

The _We always do_ goes unspoken but not unheard, and Obi-Wan can’t help but think that someday, they’re going to go through something they can’t just brush off. Someday, the medics are going to follow through on their threats of reporting them as unfit for duty, because they will be unfit for duty. Because Force, there’s only so long they can keep this up.

He lets out a breath, lets that train of thought out with it. No point dwelling on the future, not while the present is still posing so many problems of its own.

“Do you need us to avoid calling you that too?” Anakin asks, too perceptive for his own good.

Obi-Wan clenches his fists, slowly unclenches them, and says, “I don’t want to say yes, but…”

“It’s not your fault,” Anakin interjects, fiercely. “You’re not weak, or broken, or whatever else bantha shit is running through your head right now. _They_ were the problem. It’s not your fault.”

Hearing that and believing it are, of course, two very different things. But Obi-Wan can’t deny it’s good to hear.

“Considering I’m meant to be your Ma– Considering our relationship, I think you have far too in-depth a knowledge of my neuroses.”

Anakin snorts. “If hindsight has given you any better ideas for getting through to the fucking mess I was as a kid than sitting me down and saying ‘ _Guess what, Padawan, we’re all fucked up_ ’, it’s a bit of a moot point now.”

“I don’t think I managed too badly, on the whole.”

Sudden and complete sincerity floods Anakin again as he says, “You did good, Obi-Wan. You were good. I’m glad it was you.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“I will hijack one of Palpatine’s broadcasts and shout it across the length of the galaxy if it’ll get you to believe it.”

And that’s, Force, that’s almost too much sincere emotion for Obi-Wan to handle. No amount of repeated exposure seems able to ever lessen the blow that is the strength of Anakin’s feelings, and somehow, he wasn’t expecting this conversation to feel so much like a repeated suckerpunch to the gut.

“I…” He takes in a shaky breath. “That won’t be necessary, Anakin, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Oh, wow, that was a lot of emoting. Does this mean we’ve reached the point in the post-trauma conversation where we cuddle?”

By way of answer, Obi-Wan pats the space on the bed beside him expectantly. Anakin puts down the sundry pieces of droid innards he’s holding and climbs up, settling comfortably into Obi-Wan’s side. The weight of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the barely-audible hum of his arm, it all eases Obi-Wan’s bone-deep aches the way it always does.

“Y’know,” Anakin says conversationally, “we probably should talk to the Healers.”

“Need I remind you of your singular visit to the mind Healers, just short of a month after you arrived at the Temple?”

Anakin’s full-body shudder reverberates through Obi-Wan. “Okay, not the Healers. But someone. They’re not the only mental health professionals in the galaxy.”

“‘Mental health professionals’ is somewhat of a generous description.”

“Didn’t they offer to just straight-up erase my memory of my life before the Temple?”

“Yes, well, there’s a reason it took a month before I got desperate enough to take you to them.” Obi-Wan doesn’t realise he’s clenching his fists until Anakin gently pulls his fingers apart to lace their hands together. He lets out a breath, expelling the feelings into the Force at the same time. He’s spent enough time angry on Anakin’s behalf.

“Kix is a trained therapist.”

“So is Kabu.”

“Don’t think you could talk to them, though, right?”

Obi-Wan sighs. “No, not really.”

“Think Bail knows a good therapist?”

“He has no reason to, aside from our friendship, so I’m sure he has a dozen on speed dial.”

Anakin smiles, fond and wistful in equal measure. “We shouldn’t go so long without seeing him.”

“Yes, well, I’ll be sure to let Dooku know we’d like more free time. I’m sure he’ll be most accommodating.”

Anakin huffs out a quiet laugh at that, and they lapse into comfortable silence as both of them contemplate being able to spend more time with their respective Senators. Anakin starts tracing patterns across Obi-Wan’s bare forearm with a finger, just slow enough not to be ticklish. He used to connect Obi-Wan’s freckles together into pictures. It was one of the only ways Obi-Wan could trick him into sitting still.

That could be the end of it, their post-trauma conversation quota fulfilled for another few months, but the air is still laced with the tension of unsaid things. Anakin is working up to saying something, Obi-Wan can feel it.

Another few minutes of quiet, companionable contemplation, then Anakin says, “The entire time you were sleeping, I kept trying to plan out this conversation. What to say, how I’d say it - figured I’d pass on some useful tips and tricks, but. Turns out I don’t really have any, and any advice I do have is just parroting back all the stuff you told me.”

“It’s not–” Obi-Wan starts, but Anakin doesn’t let him finish.

“I know, I know, it’s not on me to fix this. Shut up, though, don’t change the subject. If this is our annual allocated frank conversation about trauma, then I’m getting my credits’ worth.” He pauses to gather his thoughts again. “It was only a month, is the thing. Not to dismiss it, but it could’ve been so much longer, and– You were lucky. You don’t need to hear that, I know you don’t, but I think I need to say it? It was still a month too long, but it was only a month.”

The patterns he’s tracing on Obi-Wan’s arm are familiar for some reason, remind him of something he can’t quite place.

“I thought about telling you that it never goes away,” Anakin continues, “but that’s not exactly news. That’s all trauma. And I thought about telling you it gets easier with time, and with distance, but that’s basically just rephrasing the Code. I thought about telling you it’s okay to be angry, but fuck knows what good anger’s ever done me. Not that it’s not okay, all your feelings are valid, but…” He lets out a breath. His hands are shaking, just slightly.

It’s several long moments before he speaks again. Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything, knowing if he does he’ll be interrupting, and it feels as though some dam in Anakin has been broken, some dam that’s been slowly cracking for years. If he’s interrupted now, he’ll just bottle all this back up again, and who knows when the stars will next align perfectly to shake it all loose.

“There’s this story, a slave story on Tatooine, about a slave called Jal. She’s been a slave her whole life, her mother was a slave and her mother was a slave and her mother was a slave, and she’s not got any children, or siblings, or any family at all. She’s her master’s only slave and she _hates_ him,” Anakin’s voice cracks with the strength of his emotion, and he takes another moment before he continues, slowly, “The story never says why. You don’t tend to need to say why on Tatooine. And the story is about her, going to the market one day, and it’s a normal day, and then something happens to her master. It varies depending on who’s telling it - he gets into a fight, he meets a beautiful woman, a malfunctioning droid crushes him,” he waves a hand through the air dismissively, “whatever. Point is, he’s distracted.”

Another pause. Anakin so rarely talks about his time on Tatooine, certainly never when he’s stone cold sober, and Obi-Wan almost wants to tell him to stop, it’s fine, he doesn’t need to tear open his chest and bare his soul like this. It’s too much, for the both of them.

But it’s necessary.

Obi-Wan is getting far too good at doing painful things because he has to.

“He’s distracted,” Anakin says again, “and Jal sees her chance. And she runs. Just _runs_ , picks a direction and goes, and no one can catch her. She runs out the market, out the town, and she’s half a click out into the desert by the time her chip detonates. And she dies. And she’s free.”

There’s a certain wistfulness to Anakin’s tone that sends shivers down Obi-Wan’s spine.

He pauses again, stares at his hand as it continues to trace patterns across Obi-Wan’s skin. They’re Artoo’s schematics, he’s pretty sure.

When Anakin starts talking again, his voice is yet softer, confessional. “I kept thinking about that story, on Zygerria. There was this girl, she jumped off the balcony… I kept thinking about her, and Jal, and you and Rex. I didn’t know where you were or what they were doing to you or what they were _telling_ you, and the Queen kept waxing poetic about her brilliant plan to enslave all the Jedi and all I could think was that I would rather die. And you would rather die, and–” He swallows. “And then she told me how they planned to break you, and I think knowing was worse, because I know you. I _know_ you.”

It’s getting harder and harder not to say anything, to just sit silent while Anakin spills out more and more of himself, but Obi-Wan doesn’t even know what he’d say. Just that this is too much, far too much, and he wants Anakin to stop, wants to hold him tight and run hands through his hair and ignore it all so hard the war ends from the strength of his need for it to alone.

Instead, he lets Anakin keep talking.

Despite what he says next.

“And there’s–” His voice cracks again, and his eyes are welling up with tears, “Force, Obi-Wan, I was _so sure_ I’d be too late, that I’d get to the facility and I’d be too fucking late. And you can’t, okay?” There are tears rolling down his cheeks and his voice is shaking with fear, with conviction. Obi-Wan pulls him closer. “You _can’t_ , you’re not allowed, don’t you _dare_ ever die. Don’t you _dare_.”

And then that’s it, he’s sobbing, and they’re definitely overdue for this. 

Obi-Wan twists so he can pull Anakin entirely into his lap, wraps his arms around him and rubs a hand up and down his back and hums the Naboo nursery rhyme Padme always sings in similar situations as best as he can through his own tears.

As Obi-Wan starts the song from the beginning for the third time, Anakin takes a deep breath, clears his throat, and says, “So Tatooine doesn’t have a lot of stories about escaped slaves who live - even if you do make it offplanet, every other planet is just as sick with it - but. The thing I decided I want to tell you is, if you die? They’ve won.” He lifts his head from where he’d buried it in Obi-Wan’s shoulder and stares Obi-Wan directly in the eyes and Obi-Wan has no hope of looking away from the force of his gaze. “If you die when they’ve got you, you’ve won, but if you get free and you waste it then you’ve _lost_. Every single thing you do now is in defiance of them, every single thing, because they don’t want you to. They don’t want you to have new clothes or get bacta for your wounds or sleep for twenty-six hours straight. They don’t want you to, and you’re doing it anyway, and you’ve got to keep doing it anyway for as long as you can, because fuck them. _Fuck_ them.”

He presses their foreheads together, drops his gaze but wraps a hand around Obi-Wan’s neck and says, in the sort of tone most people reserve for prayer, “I know that was the worst month of your life, and I know it’s only compounded on top of all the other shit, and I know– I _know_. But they wanted to own you, and they didn’t. They wanted to kill you, and they didn’t. And you’re free.”

They stay like that for an immeasurable length of time, foreheads touching, breathing slowly syncing, until abruptly Anakin pulls away and stands up, the tension in the room not shattering but rushing out the way atmo does when you open an airlock. He grabs a bottle of something alcohol-looking from the floor, takes a very long swig of it and says, “Holy shit that is the longest I have talked uninterrupted for months. Years, maybe? I’m done talking now. I think I just used up a week’s supply of words.”

“We still have to report to the Council,” Obi-Wan points out.

Anakin laughs. “The less I say to the Council about this mission, the better.” He offers the bottle to Obi-Wan. “Want some? It’s 501st moonshine.”

“I could think of healthier coping methods,” Obi-Wan says, as he takes the bottle. 501st moonshine isn’t the strongest drink the GAR black market has to offer, but that’s more of an indication of the trooper’s willingness to drink straight ethanol than anything else.

“Yeah, like talking honestly about your feelings for over an hour? We did the healthy shit already, I think we’re entitled to some good old intoxication.”

“Mhmm. Speaking of, have you talked to Padme yet?”

Anakin flops back down on the bed dramatically, throwing a hand over his eyes as he groans, “Oh Force, I haven’t talked to Padme. Why did I talk this out with you, now I have to do it _twice_.”

“Good communication is a key part of a healthy relationship–”

“I know, I _know_ , I’m not saying I won’t talk to her, I’m not an idiot. It’s just gonna suck.”

Obi-Wan offers him the moonshine. He takes it gladly.

“Have _you_ talked to Cody?”

“He slept in the medbay with me last night. He’s only let me out of his sight this evening because he’s not actually on medical leave right now and does have things he should be doing.” Obi-Wan rubs a hand across his face and sighs. “I’ll need to catch up on everything he accomplished in my absence sooner rather than later.”

“Should probably be cleared for duty first, though.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what Cody said.”

“Good man, that one.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and asks, “Was that an invitation? Because I am drinking right now, so if you’re going to encourage me to gush about him you should keep in mind I won’t shut up until I lose consciousness.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Anakin says, grinning, “I’m gonna record it and post it on the ‘net. Get your boy the recognition he deserves.”

“He would _kill_ us.”

“Well, y’know. Go out with a bang and all that.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, takes another long drink of moonshine, and changes the subject. Force knows evenings like this, just the two of them with no galaxy-threatening emergencies or any other reason to give the war more than a passing thought, are far and few between at this point. Tomorrow will be a new day, no doubt bringing news of something else terrible they need to deal with, but for now, he can relax into Anakin’s side, drink sub-par illegally brewed alcohol, and allow himself a moment to relish that no matter what else, they’re both still alive.

Obi-Wan knows it, deep in his bones; they’re alive, they’re together, and as long as those two things hold true, everything will work out.

**Author's Note:**

> for extra fun angst times, think about how they’re gonna get back to coruscant, have like two weeks of respite, and then obi-wan is gonna fake his death, and anakin is going to fall to pieces, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men won’t be able to put him back together again. i love this show!! i love this show so much!!! im dead inside!!!
> 
> anyway. im [here](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com/ao3) on tumblr.
> 
>  fun fact: this fic was nearly titled 1) 'what resembles the grave' which is from [this poem](http://www.anneboyer.com/about-2/), 2) 'yes, there will be singing' which is from [this poem](http://www.ronnowpoetry.com/contents/brecht/Motto.html), and 3) 'aw shit, emotional catharsis!' which is a line from [this collegehumour skit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syEEuSwoaJE) that freestyle love supreme cameo in. one of these things is not like the other.


End file.
